


Partners

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Aurors, Banter, Draco Malfoy - character, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Hermione Granger - character, Humor, POV Multiple, PostWar, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who ever thought that it'd be a good idea to have Malfoy and Granger work together? So far, there's been three requests for a transfer, two broken back-up wands, a gross-inflated hospital bill for a 'mauling by half-Kneazle', and one exceptionally fine pair of Dragonhide boots set on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Boundbooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boundbooks/pseuds/Boundbooks) in the [aurors_fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/aurors_fest) collection. 



> My preferred genre of cop show leans more towards the banter and quip than the crime and grit. Buddy cops are always more fun with UST (or RST, as the case may be in fanfic).
> 
> Summary is taken straight from the original prompt, because it was fantastic. :D

**Friday Afternoon**

"I am never, _never_ going on assignment with you again, Malfoy! Just you wait until Harry hears what you've done _this_ time!"

Cyril Knight, chief executive assistant to Harry Potter, Head of the Auror Office, flinched as the door crashed open, its glass insert rattling in the frame. Hermione Granger stomped through the door, her face a brilliant red, the low heels of her black shoes cracking on the tile floor like explosive hexes. Cyril rose and scurried around his desk to block the door to the inner office with both hands held up. "Auror Granger, you can't-- No, you can't go in. Auror Potter is very busy at the moment, very busy. If you would just like to wait in reception, I'm sure that he--"

Hermione folded her arms and raised her chin, staring down her nose at Cyril. "Either you get out of my way right this second, or the pain I'm going to dole out to Draco Malfoy will be a fucking holiday compared to what I will do to you."

Cyril twisted his hands together and glanced over his shoulder at the solid oak door leading into the inner office, then turned back to Hermione and gave a short, sharp exhale. His shoulders slumped in defeat. It was better to talk than to have her burst in. "Hermione, I'm sorry," he said, lowering his voice. "But, er. But his wife came by for lunch, and.... Well. She said something about the calendar and eggs and timing, and they've been in there for an hour."

Hermione's brows knotted for a moment, then her eyes widened and she took a step back, her hands falling to her sides. "Oh. Oh, I see. That's...."

"Kinky," said a deep voice, a man striding through the open door from reception. "A nooner? Hope they're not doing it on his sofa. That fabric will stain."

Cyril watched in horrified fascination as Hermione's face turned even redder before she whipped around, her hair flying wild, to poke Draco Malfoy in the chest with two fingers. "You!" she shouted, her voice strident, as she grabbed a handful of his shirt, crumpling the crisp fabric. "You are going to _suffer_. I am going to make you _pay_ for this, Draco Malfoy, don't think I won't. I am never going to work with you again, no matter what. No matter who asks, no matter what needs done. Get the hell out of my sight!"

She shoved past him, knocking him in the chest with her shoulder, and stormed out of the office. Cyril slowly took his seat and tapped his wand on the agenda tucked under the leather corner of his desk blotter. The item labeled "Hermione Granger, weekly tantrum" crossed itself off.

"It's not really a tantrum," Draco said in a musing tone directly behind him, startling Cyril into knocking over a quill holder and scattering quills across the desk. The man moved so quietly that Harry had threatened to put bells on him more than once. Cyril was beginning to think that might be a good idea. Draco reached over Cyril's shoulder and tapped the agenda with one finger. "It's more of a snit, I'd say. Possibly a conniption. I think a tantrum would involve throwing herself down and beating her fists on the floor." He straightened up, rubbing his chin. "Actually, I'd like to see that."

Cyril replaced all the quills in the holder and looked up as Draco walked around to the front of the desk. "Did you need to see Auror Potter, Auror Malfoy?"

Draco drew a small file folder from his trouser pocket. He twitched his arm and his wand slid into his palm, dropping out of his sleeve. A tap and a mumbled word returned the folder to its original size, and Draco dropped it on Cyril's desk. "Expense report," he said as he pushed his wand back into his sleeve. "And you will note that _this_ time, I have itemized all wardrobe losses, code seventeen, Granger-caused damage. And I've included receipts. Potter's not backing out of reimbursing me this time."

Cyril opened the folder and tried not to sigh at the number of receipts stuffed inside it. "I'll make sure this gets to him. Anything else?"

Draco clicked his tongue and shrugged. "Not unless you can remove the tremendous stick from Granger's arse. Unfortunately, I suspect there's not a force on earth capable of that." He gave Cyril a wide smile and strolled out of the office.

Cyril dropped his head onto the folder and allowed himself a tiny whimper.

Ginny Potter emerged from the inner office twenty minutes later, with her long hair in a tangled mess, just as Cyril was puzzling over Draco's handwriting for the seventh time. He gladly put it aside when Ginny dropped a stack of parchments on his desk. "Harry wants you to look over these before they go out in the morning. Check his spelling, the usual."

Cyril nodded at her, then averted his eyes and cleared his throat. "Mrs Potter." He tapped the center of his chest over the placket of his shirt. "You, er. You missed a couple of buttons."

Ginny squeaked and spun around to fix her blouse. When she turned back, her cheeks were as red as her hair. Cyril pretended not to notice. "I'll check these over," he said, straightening the stack of parchments. "New assign-- Oh."

The second parchment in the stack listed Aurors Granger and Malfoy as the leads on a burglary investigation. Cyril looked at the assignment, willing it to change to another set of names. _Any_ other names. He blinked several times, but it still read Granger and Malfoy. He looked up at Ginny. "He must be joking. They just finished one of these, and we're still getting complaints from the residents of the buildings the next street over."

Ginny shrugged as she plucked her cloak and bag off the tall rack in the corner of the office. Its curved black fingers mostly held ties that Harry had abandoned over time, and Ginny collected those with an aggrieved huff, shoving them into the depths of her bag. "He says he knows what he's doing. I've given up on attempts to talk him out of it. Apparently there is some grand plan afoot." She tied the ribbon of her cloak around her neck and tucked her hair into the hood before saying her farewells and bounding out of the office.

Cyril stared at the parchment on his desk, looking at it as if it would leap off the surface, latch onto his face, and bite his nose. That would likely be less dangerous than telling either of the two people named on it that they'd been assigned together again. Cyril sighed and shook his head, then took up a quill to start correcting Harry's spelling. It was more than his job was worth to question the Head of the Auror Office. All he could do was take bets on which Auror, Granger or Malfoy, would still be alive by the end of the assignment.

 

 **Friday Afternoon**

Ginny had intended to head straight for the lifts and go home, but the memory of the horrified look on Cyril's face made her take a detour into the bullpen, the warren of cubicles that made up most of the Auror Office. She waved to several familiar faces, signed two birthday cards, dropped a couple of Galleons in the Bones Family Memorial Jar, and admired the new photographs of Madge Williams' twins. It took her almost twenty minutes to make her way through the maze of desks and people to Hermione's cubicle.

Ginny glanced across the aisle into Draco's empty cubicle. The desk was clear, and it looked like Draco had skipped out early again. She took off her cloak and draped it over her arm before knocking one knuckle against the metal plate attached to the outside cubicle wall. "Hermione?"

The response was muffled. Hermione was slumped over her desk with her head resting on a messy pile of memos and field notes. She sat up and raked her hair away from her forehead, her fingers lingering unconsciously on the narrow patch of grey over her left temple. "Ginny, hi. Come on in."

Like most of the people working in the Auror Office, Hermione had set up her cubicle so that her chair faced the opening. Very few Aurors were willing to sit with their backs to a door. It made for difficult arrangements when she and Harry had dinner parties, Ginny knew that much. She draped her cloak over the visitor's chair in Hermione's cubicle and brushed the feathers of a broken quill into the rubbish bin as she sat. "Malfoy again?" she asked.

Hermione's face twisted and she made a strangling motion in the empty air. Ginny stifled a laugh. "That bad? What did he do this time?"

"What didn't he do?" Hermione slumped back in her chair and twirled a quill between her palms. Her head tipped to the side and she stared at the bookcase beside her desk, its shelves so full of books and scrolls that they were stacked three deep on the shelves and piled atop the case. "Where should I start?" she asked in a weary voice. "Should I start with his constant whinging that trudging through Knockturn Alley for witness interviews was going to ruin the polish on his boots? Or with him skiving off one interview entirely so that he could have a set of robes fitted? Or, and this is my personal favorite, with the way he set my cloak on fire?"

"Set your cloak on fire," Ginny repeated, lifting her brows. That was a new one. Draco had a history of irritating Hermione during assignments, but she couldn't recall him yet going so far as to play with fire. Not in the literal sense, at least.

Hermione growled and stood to pace in the small area behind her desk. She straightened a few of the awards and commendations on the cubicle wall. There were dozens clustered together, ivory parchments with praises penned in elegant black script, gilt-edged and marked with colorful ribbons or gold medallions, indicators of the years of Hermione's service to the Ministry. She could have moved up in the ranks a long time before, but she always refused the promotions to administration that were offered to her by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She said it was because she preferred investigation and research, but Ginny was certain there was something else behind Hermione's stubborn insistence on remaining in field work.

Returning to her desk, Hermione tapped her wand on the rim of a large porcelain mug, warming the dark tea inside it. "Oh, he claimed it was an accident, of course. Said that if I hadn't jostled him while he was lighting a cigarette, he wouldn't have dropped his wand on my cloak and there wouldn't have been a fire, but I don't believe him. Shouldn't have been smoking on a stake-out in any case. I don't care if we were there for twelve hours."

Ginny nodded in silent commiseration. "So did you hex him for it or just shout at him?" She rolled her eyes at the glare Hermione shot her direction. "Come off it, Hermione. You didn't let him get away without a little retaliation. I know you. Threaten to tell his mum? Hex his bollocks off? Give Rita Skeeter an exclusive on the size of his wand?"

To Ginny's surprise, Hermione flushed a deep pink and dropped her gaze to her tea. She cleared her throat and shook her head. "I, er. I got my own back, don't worry about it."

Ginny eyed Hermione, wondering just what she'd done. If she didn't want to admit to it, then it must have been something wicked. Hermione was a stickler for the rules, one of the many things that caused friction between her and Draco. Most Slytherins, Draco included, in the Auror Office played fast and loose with regulations. Any means, they always said. It drove Harry up a wall. "What are you going to do, then? Ask for another transfer? Or is it Malfoy's turn on that?"

Hermione toyed with the ends of her hair and sighed. "What do you think I'm going to do? I'm going to do what I always do. What needs to be done. I'm going to do my job. I'm going to finish the odds and ends of this assignment, take a well-deserved mini-break at that spa I told you about last month, and come back to the office on Monday relaxed, pampered, and only halfway tempted to shove Auror Malfoy into the incinerator chute."

"Spend an extra day at the spa," Ginny said. "Then you'll be only slightly tempted."

That got a laugh out of Hermione, and Ginny got to her feet, satisfied that Hermione would be calm enough for the rest of the day. Once she could laugh, any oncoming tempest was over. It would start again once she got the next assignment from Harry, but that would be Monday. "Coming to dinner tonight? Charlie's in town and he's bringing his famously infamous butterbeer pie."

Hermione put one hand in front of her mouth, her eyes sparkling. "Don't make me drool at work. Not office appropriate. I'll be there."

 

 **Friday Evening**

Harry sat back in his chair, one hand over his belly, his eyelids drooping in satiation. The little paunch under his hand wasn't entirely the result of dinner, and he reminded himself for the eighth or tenth time that he needed to exercise more. If he could ever find a spare moment from all the things he had to do at the office, that was. He gave a soft groan and smiled across the table at his wife. "Great meal, Gin. Don't think I'll have room to eat for weeks."

She snorted and pointed her fork at him. "Watch your tongue or I'll take that as an insult. You know very well that Charlie did half the cooking, not to mention the pie."

"And a good thing I brought three of 'em," Charlie said from down the table, his dragon fang earring flashing through the ends of his hair. "Think Harry there ate most of one on his own. And baby brother did for another one."

"Oi," Ron said, lowering his glass of butterbeer from his mouth, a mustache of froth across his upper lip. "What do I keep telling you? I'm in my thirties. Baby brother doesn't count any more, old man."

Charlie ruffled Ron's hair before giving him an affectionate, gentle smack to the back of the head. "Youngest brother gets to be the baby. Sorry, mate, you're stuck with it for life."

"Gin's younger."

Ginny stood, gathering plates and bowls into a stack. "Ginny's also the only girl, so she's special." She gave Ron a bright smile and stuck her tongue out at him before flicking her wand to send the empty plates into the kitchen. "Isn't that right, Hermione?"

Hermione, caught surreptitiously licking a bit of whipped topping off her fork, looked up with a guilty expression, the tines of the fork still against her tongue. "Hmm? Sorry, wasn't paying attention."

Harry laughed. "Make that four pies next time, Charlie. Looks like our Hermione needs one for herself."

Flushing pink, Hermione shook her head. "No, it wasn't the pie, though it's delicious. I was thinking about Malfoy." A series of groans followed that statement, and Ron and Charlie both flicked rude gestures into the air. Ginny thumped them each in turn as she circled the table with the pitcher of berry punch she'd made before dinner. Hermione made a face at them. "Don't blame me for his expense reports this time, Harry," she said, glancing at him. "I did my best to talk him out of several of those items."

"Malfoy can't be talked out of anything," Harry said. He ruffled his fringe back and absently rubbed at the faded scar over his brow before holding his glass up for Ginny to fill. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to be thinking too much about Malfoy before the new assignments went out. He knew he'd be hearing enough on the topic come Monday. "But, er. Let's not talk business at table, all right? Shop talk's rather boring for most of this crowd."

Ron and Charlie made protesting sounds, but Harry threw a warning glare at them and they settled down to a conversation about the Cannons. "Gin tells me you're off to the spa this weekend," he said to Hermione, drawing the pie tin closer to his plate. He split the last piece in half and gave the second section to Hermione. "Didn't think that was your sort of thing."

Hermione gave him a questioning look, her mouth full of pie. Harry shrugged. "You never were the girly-girl type. Frills and primping and all that. Just trying to imagine what you'd do there."

"Harry," Ginny said in a long-suffering, embarrassed voice. "Forgive him, Hermione, he still doesn't know much about women. Harry, just because a woman isn't into pink and ruffles and unicorns doesn't mean she doesn't want to have some attention all to herself from time to time."

Hermione nodded and held up one hand, wiggling her fingers to direct attention to her short, bitten nails. "Manicure, for one. I _like_ having nice nails. Face mask, mud bath, professional massage. The works. Forty-eight hours all for me where I can just relax, be pampered, and read something that isn't a witness statement or a scene report. Absolutely nothing to do with the office or assignments or _Malfoy_ for two whole days. It'll be bliss." She took a bite of pie and closed her eyes to give a deep, contented sigh. "Bliss."

Harry exchanged glances with Ginny, worrying at his lower lip. He knew Hermione would have plenty to say about the assignment she would get on Monday, but it had been the best option. No matter the fights and arguments and complaints, Hermione and Draco were the best team he had in the entire department. Plus, in ten years, they'd each proven to be the only one who could work with the other. If he separated them, the whole office would be thrown into chaos. He didn't even want to think about the number of resignations that would be on his desk if he inflicted either of them on a new partner. "Sounds good," he said with a quiet exhale. He nodded at her and tried his best to give a full and honest smile. "Take the time to relax."

 

 **Saturday Morning**

Hermione stood at the reception counter of Tranquil Breezes Retreat and Spa, her arms folded over her chest and her eyes narrowed as she stared, one foot tapping on the pale green tiles. Halcyon, a young witch in flowing white robes, flipped through several ledgers, their covers woven in muted shades of beige, tan, and brown. She closed the last ledger, then huffed as she caught her dangling identification card between the pages. She tugged it loose and adjusted the long lanyard around her neck. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger," she said, resting her hands on the polished oak counter to keep the tremble in them from being so obvious. Hermione Granger had a glare that could out-freeze a basilisk. "But there is no record of a reservation for you this weekend. Or any other weekend this month."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said. She shoved her fringe away from her face and leaned on the counter, her elbows pressed into it and her fingers curled around the far edge. "I made that reservation six weeks ago. I confirmed it three weeks ago, and I _reconfirmed_ it last week. I paid a deposit of fifty Galleons for my reservation and another twenty for a guaranteed spot in the Doves Wing. I want to speak to your manager, Miss--" She leaned closer and peered at the identification card, Halcyon's name written in swooping, rounded script. "Halcyon. Oh, for god's sake."

Halcyon hunched her shoulders and rolled her eyes. "It's Helen. We all have to take a 'peaceful' name for business when we're hired." She spoke in a low voice, looking over her shoulder for one of the spa's supervisors to pop out of the ferns and stones that surrounded the gurgling water feature behind the reception desk. "Look, Miss Granger, I really wish there was something I could do for you, but we're booked solid this weekend. There isn't a bed to be spared, much less a private room. I can contact the manager and see if we might be able to give you some compensation for your trouble today, but the one thing I can't do is give you a room."

"The Doves Wing isn't any good, regardless," said a deep and drawling voice from a seating arrangement off to the left, the speaker hidden behind a tall decorative tree. Halcyon jumped. The man had arrived over an hour before, but after asking a few basic questions, he'd disappeared. She'd been positive that he'd left, not that he'd gone to the waiting area. "You're not missing anything. There aren't even full baths in each room. You'd have to _share_."

Hermione stared at the grain of the counter between her arms. Halcyon heard her counting to twenty in a low whisper. Hermione lifted her head and Halcyon took a step back at the fire shining in her eyes. "Malfoy," Hermione said with a growl. She turned to glare at him as he rose from one of the low wicker chairs.

He tapped a pamphlet against his palm as he crossed the reception area to stand beside her at the desk. Smoothing the pamphlet over the counter, he pointed to the description of the various rooms and suites available at Tranquil Breezes. "You chose the cheapest room available, Granger. How is that conducive to relaxing?"

Halcyon watched in fascination as Hermione ground her teeth. She could see the temptation, as Hermione's fingers twitched against the counter, to grab up one of the ledgers and smash his pointed nose into his face. "Not all of us are capable of pissing gold, Draco Lucius Malfoy," Hermione hissed. "Some people actually have to keep to a budget. Not that you would understand that, from the expense reports you keep throwing at Harry. Crookshanks did _not_ maul you, speaking of that. A scratch on the arm hardly destroyed your shirt and there is no way Harry is going to approve a hundred Galleon expense."

Draco leaned an elbow on the counter and looked at her, his brows lifted and one corner of his mouth curled up. "I doubt that he will. But it will give him something to do. Potter enjoys denying me things. I like to indulge him every once in a while. It's amusing to watch when he thinks he's put one over on me."

Hermione hung her head, counting to twenty again, this time out loud. Halcyon sympathized. One of her co-workers drove her around the bend as well, with his insistence on wearing trainers _everywhere_. Tranquil Breezes Resort and Spa was supposed to be a relaxing environment. Halcyon suspected that instead, for Hermione Granger, it was becoming a nightmare.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, her jaw clenched so tightly that Halcyon was surprised she could speak at all.

Draco shrugged one shoulder. "Thought I'd take a bit of a mini-break myself. Pansy's always going on about this place. Considering the complete shambles you made out of our last assignment, thought I could use the rest."

"Me? _Me_?" Hermione screeched so loud and shrill that Halcyon clapped her hands over her ears. She backed away from the desk, almost tripping into the water feature, and pressed herself against the far wall. These two looked the sort to hex first and she wanted to be well out of the way.

She watched with her lanyard clutched in both hands as the pair gave each other such heated looks that she was surprised the water feature didn't start to boil. "You," Draco said in a low, posh drawl. "You made a shambles of the assignment. I had that witness eating out of my hand and you had to _ruin_ it by whinging about her house-elf. If you hadn't raised your hackles, I'd have talked that information out of her within ten minutes."

"You weren't trying to talk information out of her, Malfoy," Hermione spat. "You were trying to talk her out of her knickers."

Halcyon couldn't blame this unknown witness. Draco's voice was intoxicating. Halcyon closed her eyes just to listen to him. That voice seemed to sink right into her and buckled her knees. She clung to one of the stone ledges of the waterfall behind her as he continued. "Is that your problem?" he said, and there was so much confusion in his words that Halcyon opened one eye. Draco had an expression of complete surprise, eyes wide and mouth open. Hermione had turned away from him, and Halcyon held her breath as he reached out to lay his hand on Hermione's arm. "Granger, honestly. Is that your problem? You think I was flirting with her?"

Hermione shoved his hand away and spun on him, her fists jammed on her hips. "Sure looked like it to me. No skin off my nose if that's how you prefer to get your jollies, but you can at least give me the courtesy of not doing it right in front of me."

Halcyon couldn't decide which of them to watch, her eyes flicking back and forth between them. Draco was silent, staring at Hermione, and Halcyon had to struggle not to scream at him to speak. Despite her efforts, she still made a squeaking noise. Draco and Hermione both froze, then turned to look at her, each wearing a sheepish expression as if they'd forgotten her presence.

Draco cleared his throat. "In that case, I know just what to do. You're definitely going to need to spend the weekend here." He gestured at Halcyon, who moved forward cautiously. "Give Granger the Parkinson suite in the Crane Wing."

Halcyon lifted her brows, blinking at him. "The, er. The Parkinson suite? The Crane Wing? Sir, I cannot simply give away a suite without authorization."

Draco leaned over the desk, ignoring Halcyon's sputtered protest, and drew a slim ledger from beneath the desk's overhang. He flipped through it, then turned it to face her and tapped his finger on a page. "I have authorization to use that suite at my discretion. You're welcome to contact Pansy for verification if you'd like, but I happen to know she's in Venice and would _not_ appreciate being interrupted. Her annual shoe shopping trip. Italian leather. She's a fiend for it. Take my advice and give the suite to her," he said, jerking his head at Hermione.

"Malfoy, I am not taking any--"

"Unclench, woman." Draco turned around. Halcyon couldn't see the look he gave to Hermione, but it must have been a good one. Hermione stiffened as if she'd been Petrified. "It's one of the nicest in the place. Take. The. Suite."

Hermione's cheeks turned red and her hands fell to her sides. She let all her breath out in one huff, then scraped her hair back from her face. "If it will shut you up and get me into a hot bath? Give me the damned suite."

Halcyon, hands trembling now that it appeared that the battle was over for the moment, held a key out to Hermione. She took it and stomped off, muttering imprecations all the way to the lifts. Halcyon wiped her sleeve on her forehead and slumped in relief. She was going to need a session in the steam room once she was off-shift. And several beers after. She exhaled sharply and glanced at Draco. "And you, sir?"

He took a key from his pocket and winked at her. "I'm set. Have her things sent up, but pick a strong porter. Granger has some serious baggage."

 

 **Saturday Morning**

Hermione stood in the center of the suite's main room, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. She took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet incense that scented the room, and let it out. She felt a knot of tension between her shoulder blades loosen. She hadn't done anything after tipping the porter and closing the door except change into one of the complimentary dressing gowns, but she already felt calmer. The suite's décor, all soothing neutrals and soft hues, was perfect. The floral arrangements scattered on tables around the room were perfect. The tall windows in the bedroom looked out on an expansive view that was perfect.

Everything was perfect.

Except one thing.

She went to a door discreetly hidden behind a large fern and knocked on it. It opened and she lifted her chin. "Fine. You were right. It's a very nice room," she said. "But did you have to be such a dick about it?"

Draco laughed and opened the door wider. "You're the one who insists we keep up the act. Do you have any idea how much scrambling I had to do to get your reservations cancelled?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed past him to look around his suite. It matched hers, except in darker shades, and the incense held a spicier scent. "You could have just let me keep my room."

" _Shared_ bathrooms, Granger." Draco gave a shudder as he closed the connecting door. "And the Doves Wing is all the way on the other side of the building. Pansy won't mind if you use her suite. She's been telling me to take you on holiday for months now."

Hermione whipped around, her eyes narrowing. "You told Parkinson?"

"She's my best friend. And no, I didn't tell her. Not deliberately. We were shopping for robes for that idiotic Ministry party last Christmas and she walked into my changing room. Saw the claw marks in my back, and there was no way in hell I could blame _that_ on your bloody cat. She dragged it out of me."

Hermione's lips twitched in a smile and she held her hands up, examining her fingers. "That reminds me. I told Harry I'd be getting a manicure this weekend. Think I'll have them extend my nails while they're at it."

Draco gave a soft growl and snagged her wrist. He pulled her against his chest. "Red," he murmured, brushing her hair away from her neck. "I want 'em red."

Hermione put both hands on his chest and pushed him back. "Oh, no you don't, Malfoy. You still owe me for a burned cloak and for that little scene at the reception desk. Shambles of the assignment, my arse."

"And a pert little arse it is, too," he said.

Hermione folded her arms and stared at him. Draco took a step closer to her and Hermione moved away to sit in a wide, plush chair. "You also still owe me for flirting with that witness. I really am irritated about that."

"I wasn't _flirting_ ," Draco said with a growl. He scrubbed both hands through his hair and over his face. "Standard operational tactics, find common ground with the witness to encourage positive reception and establish a sense of rapport."

"You were flirting."

"Fine." He tossed both hands up in frustration. "Fine. If you thought I was flirting, then I won't do it again. I will let you handle all female witnesses from here out, just to ensure that I don't give even the appearance of flirting. Is that better?"

"It wasn't an apology. Not even close to one. You want me to forgive you, then you're going to have to grovel." Hermione lifted her chin and tossed her hair back, pointing to the floor in front of her feet. "I'm waiting," she said, doing her best not to laugh at the stunned look on Draco's face. Honestly, she thought, he was far too much fun to torment.

Draco looked at her, his eyes narrowing. Hermione leaned back in the chair and adjusted her dressing gown to expose one of her legs up to the thigh. She dragged her fingers up her leg, almost purring at the dark heat that filled Draco's eyes as she stroked her bare skin. "Well?" she asked, crossing her legs and hiding a smile when Draco gave a soft, involuntary grunt. "Going to stand over there all day or are we going to get this weekend started properly?"

Draco crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her chair. "Witch," he muttered, kissing the top of her shin. "You win. I apologize. I apologize for burning your cloak, for allegedly flirting with a witness, for padding my expense reports, and for just generally being a bastard who makes your life hell. Now am I forgiven? There's a very large bed in the next room and I was promised a weekend with my loving girlfriend. Have you seen her, by the way?"

She leaned forward, smirking as his gaze went straight to the opening of her dressing gown and the curves of her breasts. Patting his cheek, she licked her lips. "You are absolute rubbish at apologies. But I suppose I shall take the high road and forgive you. I did promise, after all. First things first, I want you to give me a long, steaming, wet, hot--"

Draco groaned when she paused and he knocked his head against her knee. "Finish it, Granger, because I know damn well you're not going to say orgasm."

"Bath." Hermione giggled and stepped over Draco when he fell back on the floor with a whimper of defeat. "C'mon, you big faker. We'll _share_ a bath."

 

 **Sunday Morning**

Draco woke with an armful of warm, delightfully naked Granger. He snuggled closer to her, spreading his hand over her stomach. Hermione murmured and pressed back, her arse rubbing against him and heating his blood. He kissed her shoulder and smiled when she turned her head enough to look at him. "Morning," he said. "Sex or tea?"

Hermione stretched, tugged her hair from beneath his arm, and rocked her head on the pillow. "Tough call." She rolled over and tucked her head under his chin, one hand on his heart and one leg over his hip. She gave a long, deep sigh and kissed his chest. "Tea."

"Ouch." Draco chuckled and knocked his chin on the top of her head. "Flattering."

"If you want sex, I get tea. At least, if you want me awake enough for sex."

Draco made a humming noise, pretending to consider. Hermione snorted and smacked his chest before rolling away and stealing the sheet off the bed. She wrapped it around herself and padded into the bathroom, singing Celestina Warbeck's latest hit. Draco tried not to cringe. Hermione had many skills, but carrying a tune was not one of them.

He pulled on loose trousers before he contacted room service for a breakfast tray, and by the time Hermione emerged from the bathroom, her damp hair loose around her shoulders, he'd set up the table for them on the balcony. He gave her an approving look, enjoying the sight of her dressed in nothing but one of his shirts, the tails dangling around her thighs and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

Hermione brushed her fingers across the back of his neck and smiled as she took her seat. Draco watched her familiar routine - butter spread on toast, sugar stirred in tea, jam licked off finger - then cleared his throat. He'd been thinking about this question since she'd walked into his suite. It gnawed at him, and he couldn't wait any longer. "Why won't you tell anyone?" he asked.

Hermione knotted her brows, holding the toast in her mouth by one corner. "Hmm?" She put the toast down and wiped her fingers on a cloth. "Why won't I tell what?"

"This," he said. He gestured at the table, at her, at the room beyond the French doors. "Us. We've been keeping this a secret for over a year. At your insistence. Why don't you want anyone to know?" The muscles in his back tightened as he waited for her response. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer. Maybe she was ashamed of him, maybe she was only in it for the sex, maybe she wasn't willing to stand up to her friends.

"Because it would kill Harry," she said, and Draco's back tensed even more until she continued. "Now, I'm sure that would thrill you in a hundred different ways, but I just don't have the patience to train a different Head Auror. Can you imagine trying to explain your expense reports to someone new?" She grinned at him.

Draco met her eyes. "Hermione. I'm not teasing right now. I want an answer."

Slowly Hermione's expression went serious. She dropped her gaze and toyed with her fork for a moment, then slumped back in her chair. "We're Aurors. Rules and regulations state that partners cannot be romantically involved. If anyone at the office found out about us, we'd never work together again. You of all people know how little personal time we get when we're on assignment. Can you honestly say that you'd be all right with only seeing me for a couple of hours once a week? With memos as love letters and department meetings as dates?"

She got up and circled the table to slide into his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. "I like my job, Draco. No, I love my job. Even when you drive me around the bend, I love working with you." She rested her head on his shoulder and kissed the side of his neck. "But most importantly, I love you. I don't want anyone to know because I don't want to lose what we have. I like our relationship just as it is. All the arguing and bickering that we do to throw people off? It's fun because we both know it isn't real. Because we both know how things really are. If we came clean, then we'd hardly ever see each other, and then our little make-believe fights might become _actual_ fights."

Draco settled his arms around her and rested his cheek on her hair. "You can't know that would happen."

"And you can't know it wouldn't." She lifted her head and looked at him, the corners of her eyes tight with worry.

Draco brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. He felt horrible for bringing this up on the first holiday they'd had together in months. He wanted something more concrete than that from her, wanted something more positive and confident, but he knew her. He knew her too well. The best tactic to get Hermione Granger to pull away was to push. "All right," he said, "we'll leave it just like this." For now, he added silently. He pecked a kiss on her cheek and smiled at her. "But you're the one who's going to have to come up with an excuse if Potter actually accepts one of your frequent transfer demands."

That got a small shake of laughter out of her. Draco grinned and slid his fingers beneath her hair to tip her face to his. He kissed her, lips moving gently against hers.

Hermione slowly relaxed in his arms, and when she parted her lips to slip her tongue into his mouth, Draco gave a soft growl. He tightened one arm around her, slid the other beneath her knees, and pushed the chair back from the table. Balancing with care, he stood and carried Hermione to the bed.

She laughed and arched her back in invitation as he stretched out beside her. "I didn't get my tea, Malfoy," she said with a mock pout.

He popped the buttons open on her shirt and bent to swipe his tongue across her nipple. "You can pretend to sleep, then," he muttered. "I had tea while you were in the shower. Time for sex."

Hermione snorted and pushed at his shoulder to roll him over. She straddled his hips and ground down on him, forcing a low moan out of his throat. "I agree," she said as she dragged her nails down his chest. "Tea later. Sex now."

 

 **Monday Morning**

Cyril stood in the bullpen, clutching the last two parchments detailing the week's assignments. He tilted to the left and looked into Auror Granger's empty cubicle, then tilted to the right and looked toward Auror Malfoy, sitting at his desk. Neither option was good.

Draco looked up from his paperwork and tugged at the high collar of his jumper. Cyril caught the reddened circle of a bruise in Draco's pale skin, and his brows lifted. That looked for all the world like a lovebite. He tried to imagine the sort of woman that Draco would prefer. There couldn't be many who would put up with his arrogance.

"Did you want something, Cyril?" Draco asked as he put his quill down. He rubbed a spot of ink off his finger and stood with a grunt, his hand going to his back.

"Are you all right?" Cyril asked, snatching at the distraction to put off the dread of giving out this assignment. To his surprise, Draco's cheeks turned a light shade of pink. Cyril's brows climbed even further up his forehead.

"Yeah. Fine. Just.... Minor bedroom incident over the weekend," Draco said. He pulled on a smirk and leaned against the front of his desk, arms folded. "The lady's name is confidential, I'm afraid, but word of advice? Don't date women with long nails. Hell on the back." He cocked his head and rubbed his neck. "At least, it is if you're doing it right."

Cyril tried a laugh. It came out shaky and high-pitched, and he cut himself off with a cough. "The, er. The new assignments," he said, holding one of the parchments out.

Draco took the parchment and examined it, his face tightening as he read. "Burglary," he said in a low voice. "Working with Granger again. Oh, _joy_. Just what I wanted."

"Like you're such a bundle of laughs yourself, Malfoy." Cyril jumped as Hermione spoke behind him. He looked over his shoulder. She ignored him, glaring at Draco as she sipped steaming tea from a paper cup labeled with the logo of the Ministry's canteen. She flicked her free hand at Cyril and he plastered himself against the cubicle's outer wall to let her by.

As she passed, she snatched the last parchment out of his hand and threw it onto her desk. "Better get Supply to send up another case of expense reports," she said, dropping into her chair and throwing a glare across the aisle at Draco. "Someone's bound to complain that he's lost another expensive shirt."

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Draco said. "Buttons torn off, collars torn, mysterious sticky stains. The things you do to my wardrobe are indescribable. Just you wait, Granger. Give me one good excuse and I'll return the favor. That blouse you have with the ruffles on the cuffs? I would be _thrilled_ to rip that off you."

Cyril swallowed hard at the vehemence in Draco's voice. He glanced into Hermione's cubicle, morbidly curious about her reaction. Her face was flushed and her eyes burned as she took a deep and shuddering breath. "Don't start with me," she snarled, whipping her hair into a bun and shoving a denuded quill through it. "I didn't get any rest this weekend. _Someone_ screwed with me and my plans."

"Oh, poor Granger," Draco said. He crossed the aisle and leaned against the side of her cubicle. "You'll just have to suck on it, won't you?"

Hermione's shocked gasp almost made the papers on her desk flutter, and she shot to her feet. Cyril backed away as Draco laughed, deep and rolling. "Save it, Granger. You'll need your breath to shout at Potter. He's assigned us together again."

Cyril turned on his heel and bolted. If he hid in the file room for a couple of hours, he might make it to lunch unscathed. Head Auror Harry Potter would just have to fend for himself that morning.


End file.
